


The Foreign Art of Telling the Truth

by DisasterSoundtrack



Series: End of Pretend [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What are the odds? Seriously, what are the odds of meeting exactly the person you need at the exactly right moment of your life? Why am I so lucky? Is my luck finally turning around, or is it a sick joke with an ugly laugh in the background?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Foreign Art of Telling the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> You might want to read Part I first, http://archiveofourown.org/works/3615453

When I get to the Starbucks by the bus stop five minutes late and Pete is not there, my heart stops. It's been beating too fast all day today, giving me nausea, but now it decides to stop. Fine. Let it be. I stomp in front of the cafe, explaining to myself that people are late sometimes, take me for example, I am always late; that he didn't ditch me.

Pete shows up two minutes later with two cups of Starbucks in his hands.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just took a wild guess. We'll get another one if we need to." His smile is like the rising sun - honest, full - faced, bright.

"As long as there's no booze in it, it's fine." I try to match his smile with my own, but I know I'm not even halfway there.

"It's just plain latte. Sorry if it's boring."

"It's not. Hi." Maybe he just never stops smiling.

"Hello, Mikey. I'd hug you, but I'm not sure if you'd like that. There are so many unanswered questions between us, man."

I take my cup of coffee from his hand and hug him with one arm. Pete smells like summer, like California, like life itself should.

"Do you want to take a walk with me?"

We walk for an hour and I don't even realize how tired my feet get before we sit down in the sand on an old, abandoned playground. It's still warm outside, the evening slowly coating everything. Our conversation revolves around music, my current band and his former one and common friends we have. Why have we never been introduced? The world is not fair, as I've been informed many times before.

"So what do you do for a living?"

Pete smiles, but not this beaming type this time; rather a small, sarcastic one.

"Well, I wrote a book."

"Seriously?" I am hanging out with a writer? A writer who makes enough money to support himself this way? This evening can't get any stranger.

"Yeah. _The Boy With the Thorn In His Side_. It sold like crazy. I didn't expect this, I was making a living writing reviews and stuff like that, but when the book came around I kinda dropped everything but."

"Oh fuck me", I exclaim, struck with a sudden realization. Pete looks at me questioningly. "I have read the book. It has kept me up for two nights in a row, I swear, I loved it. How come I didn't connect your name with it? How did that happen?"

"I don't look the writing type, I guess." Suddenly Pete surrounds my back with his arm and I am absolutely okay with that. "But I appreciate your approval, Mikey, thank you. But this is where it gets hard, you know."

"Hard?"

"Yeah. See, I am supposed to write another book this year. It's in my publishing contract. And I have no idea what to write about. My head is empty. Suddenly I am brain-dead and everything I create is this rock poetry, and that won't satisfy my publisher."

"I bet inspiration doesn't come easy."

"It doesn't. That's why I'm on a quest." Pete moves so that he's seated cross-legged across from me and looks me straight in the eyes. "I'm not gonna lie here, Mikey, I like you. That's why I'd like you to join me on my search for inspiration."

So this evening does get weirder. Who would've guessed?

"Okay... What do you mean by that?"

There's a light in his features that can be described only as mischievous.

"I'm gonna do stuff I've never done before. I'm gonna do fun stuff, boring stuff, stuff that makes me anxious, angry or tired. Nothing extreme though, I just want to look at things differently, you know? Maybe some connection in my brain is finally gonna snap the right way. So, what do you say?"

What are the odds? Seriously, what are the odds of meeting exactly the person you need at the exactly right moment of your life? Why am I so lucky? Is my luck finally turning around, or is it a sick joke with an ugly laugh in the background?

"Count me in, Pete. When do we start?"

"Tonight", he says, looking fondly at the playground we're at. The jungle gym is sad and rusty; the swings threaten to collapse at mere touch of a finger. Still, there's something magical about it. "Let's play. You could use some fun, right?" He stands up and extends a hand to help me.

I mean, really. What are the odds?

*

Mikey is wearing his nerdy glasses when he opens the door. He looks like he's been asleep for a week and maybe he has.

''Frank. What's the emergency?''

Actually, there isn't one. I just need people around to keep my sanity and distract myself from thinking about Mikey's brother. Gerard seems to be a constant presence in my stream of consciousness, despite my best efforts.

''Do I need an emergency to hang out with a friend these days? Jesus. We're going to a gig, you're gonna like it. Get dressed.''

Mikey hesitates, playing with a hem of his t-shirt. I've seen that look a thousand times before. I even missed seeing that look during the time when I thought I've lost Mikey for good.

''What is it?''

He looks at me and raises his shoulders. Seems like he's apologizing for what he wants to say in advance.

''I know everything, Frank.''

''What do you mean?''

I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. I really don't, except that I fucking do.

''Gerard told me.''

That blows.

''How much detail?'' This is the only question I can think of. My chest hurts almost as if I took a heavy punch.

''Very little, on my specific request.'' Mikey adjusts his nerdy glasses. ''Can we just agree to never ever talk about it?'' He notices the look on my face and misinterprets it. ''Or we can talk about it now, if you need to. I'm here. I can go through it for you.''

A sudden wave of warm feelings for Mikey floods me. ''Let's just agree on the 'not talking about it' option.''

Mikey nods. ''Fine by me.''

I wait for him to get ready so that we could leave. He changes clothes and brushes his teeth. As we're walking to my car and I'm talking about the band we're supposed to see, Mikey decides to drop a bombshell on me completely out of the blue.

''He cares about you, you now. Gerard. He was fully messed up after you kicked him out.''

Mikey was never one to exaggerate minor things, so I'm baffled by his reveal.

''I didn't kick him out. I didn't kick anybody out. I just didn't let him in. There's a difference.''

''Look, Frank'', launches Mikey again while I'm starting the car, ''I don't know shit about feelings, relationships and stuff, but you're both my best friends and I don't want any of you to get hurt.''

I don't want to get hurt either. I have thick skin and Gerard, after all the break-ups, probably has thick skin as well. I'm looking at my own hands, not shaking at all at the steering wheel; I stop at the traffic lights and then look at Mikey, who is still wearing his glasses. I'm not sure if he left them on purpose or just forgot to take them off. I'm not sure if I consciously decided to quit love once and forever or just forgot what it's like to have feelings for somebody. I have built my thick skin out of scar tissue and I never looked back once.

''Okay'', I say to Mikey and to myself as well.

''Okay what?''

''Just – let's don't bring this up ever again. Please.''

This time it's Mikey who says okay, and turns on my car radio.

*

_Dear Mikey,_

_why is it only 'Mikey' with you? Not Michael, Mike, Mickey, just Mikey? Was it an accident, a childhood nickname that happened to stick, or your wise decision? Why did I think up this question alone at night, not when I was with you? I should've asked you. I might forget I wanted to by the time we meet again, and this letter is not meant to be answered. So don't worry about it. Just please, remember to tell me why you're Mikey._

_(Mikey fits you. But if you wanted to be called Michael, or Adam, or Katie, or anything else, I'd call you that, and I'd be happy to.)_

_It's night, but it's a different kind of night somehow. It's quieter. Warmer maybe, but not in literal sense. Tonight is like a blanket you want to be under, preferably forever._

_I was somewhere else once. I was sleepless every single night, because medically induced sleep is never real and always terrifying. I was in a place of no return, I was staring at an open door in front of me, I was dangling my feet above the abyss, I was reaching for the fire, but I couldn't make the final move. For years and years I've wandered, aimless and always alone, looking for something I didn't want to find, and then I turned off the light._

_It was the last thing I had the energy to do. Flicking off the light switch._

_Are you wondering why I'm telling you this? Not everything needs to have a reason behind it. Sometimes a letter is just a letter. Sometimes a word is just a word, no double meanings, no backstory. Sometimes there are things a person needs to know before they engage in something. And this little explanation (that is probably going to make it even harder for you, I'm so sorry) happens because I feel like I owe you. I owe you for spilling your water on me and talking to me then. For the coffee and for the time at the playground. For wanting to participate in my crazy search._

_Even if I don't find the inspiration for my new book, I've already found something._

_I've found a night that's like a blanket. I've found a playground. I've been a kid for a while again._

_Until next time, Mikeyway._

_Pete_

*

William and I are setting everything in order in the bookstore after closing when my phone starts ringing. I'm not even supposed to have it here with me, but fuck that, there are no customers anymore, so what's the harm? The manager is not around.

My mom's calling.

''Hey, what's up?''

A dull wall of tears attacks me from the other end of the line.

''Grandma. She's – Frankie, she's...''

She was 82 years old, if I remember correctly.

''Did she die, mom?'' I squeeze the words out and notice William dropping his work and approaching me carefully. All I hear from my mom in return is another teary wave.

''Frankie...''

''I'll come over tomorrow morning, alright? First thing in the morning. Try to calm down. Is Aunt Bella with you?'' Silence. ''Mom. Please talk to me.''

''Yes, she's here.''

''Okay. Just wait for me.''

I hang up and suddenly I don't know what to do with my arms, legs and tongue in my mouth. My phone slides to the carpeted floor along with me. All I can see are ceiling lights. All I can feel are William's long arms surrounding me, the smell of his hair overwhelms everything.

''Your grandma...?'' he asks softly.

I nod, fighting the burning underneath my eyelids. William caresses my hair.

The lights flicker, but maybe that's just in my head.

*

''Hello?''

''Gee, listen up. Frank's grandma died.''

''That sucks, I'm sorry. But why are you telling me this?''

I don't want to meddle. I don't want to further mess up a messed up situation. But I figured, if I can give my moronic brother one little push in the right direction, why the hell not?

An occasion, however morbid, has presented itself.

''Because you can make a move now.''

''I can – wait, you can't be serious. He's mourning his grandma and I'm supposed to – ''

''Listen to me.'' This idiot, supposedly, is my _older_ brother. ''He's going to the funeral tomorrow morning, it's in Trenton or some shit.'' A cab pulls up in front of my building where I'm waiting for Pete, and Pete Wentz himself gets out of it and smiles at me. ''Gee, I gotta go. Just show up at his place, seven AM, maybe earlier, and offer to go with him. Drive him there, support him, show that you care.''

''No, Mikey, this is idiotic.''

''You are idiotic. This is a brilliant idea, just do it. Gotta go. Bye.''

Pete takes my hand and guides me to the cab.

''Why is my brother like this?'' I ask him, although he wouldn't know.

''What's up with your brother?''

''He is – it's complicated, are you sure you wanna hear it?''

Pete shrugs. ''We're in a cab; there aren't many other things to do, right? Besides'', he pats my hand he's been holding until now, ''of course I wanna hear it. I wanna hear everything you wanna say.''

I'm not sure why he's being so nice to me. For all I know, he genuinely likes me for who I am. Ever since my new life has begun, I have been baffled by all the support I've received. I didn't think I deserved it, I still don't think I do. Pete is going to be yet another person I would owe in the end.

''You know Frank, the singer of my band? He's also my best friend since high school, and he's had a crush on my brother for probably just as long. But nothing ever happened between them until lately. But Gerard was fresh after a break-up, Frank thought he was a rebound and hated the idea, and then it got really complicated.''

I take a second's rest for a breath. We're passing downtown.

''Why?''

''My brother, as it turns out, has feelings for Frank.''

''Well, I kinda expected this plot twist all along'', Pete is grinning at me. I punch him in the arm playfully.

''Because you're so smart!''

''Yeah, because I'm so smart.'' Pete lays his head of my shoulder, so I kind of snuggle close to him, smelling the fresh scent that reminds me of Californian summer. I have no idea when and how the intimacy between us happened, but it feels more natural than anything I've ever done.

''Gonna tell me where we're going, Pete?''

''No, because you'd escape. We'll be there in 10 minutes, just wait.''

''Well, I wanna know in case I need to escape!''

''No way I'm telling you.''

It turns out, we're going to a club.

The place is huge, packed with people of all kinds, ages, occupations, just gathered here in one common purpose – to let loose. Forget their troubles for a while, get lost in the music, grind on someone hot, drink themselves into oblivion.

I wonder if I should tell Pete exactly why I'm not supposed to let myself loose like that.

He senses my confusion as we stand on the sidewalk. We didn't even approach the line yet, but the lights from the inside are dancing in front of my eyes and the music is already loud. It's a raw, electronic beat with some Latino flavor mixed in. Pete surrounds my back with his arm and softly guides me to the line.

''We're just gonna dance together and leave the rest behind. Alright? Can you do that? Because if you really don't want to, we can go and do something else. Like, sit somewhere quietly. Or read a book. Or, maybe, find a 24 hour café that serves hot dogs. But I think we should go in here and dance. I wanna dance with you, Mikeyway.''

I'm not looking at Pete, but at the bouncer we're about to approach. ''Stop rambling, Pete. I'm gonna dance with you, stop rambling.''

Pete kisses me on the cheek. We pay for the entrance and take each other's hands while stepping into the crowd. All of the colors and sounds attack me at once, but then I'm being dragged through the sweaty mass of people on the dancefloor. Pete, who looks like a rainbow mirage with the stroboscopic lights jumping over him, searches for some center that never seems to get closer. We settle for a place among a group of people dressed as if they came to an 80's rave, drinks in hands, feathered boas around their necks. The music changes for something just a little but darker and I stare into Pete's eyes, thinking about the letter he wrote me and the darkness seeping from it. Pete doesn't waste no time though, he gets as close to me as possible, arms around my waist, and looks up, smiling in the most adorable way. I can feel his body lining up against mine.

It's very hot in this club, I swear.

''Shall we dance, Mikey?''

I smile to show that yes, we can, and we start to sway slowly, not minding the raw beats too much. The 80's rave people cheer for a while – for us? For themselves? I don't care. I'm dancing with Pete Wentz in a place that feels like an excerpt from another world, a world where everyone is reborn in colors and lights.

When the music changes, we dance faster. We jump, thrash and drink water. We laugh in line to the bathroom, fingers entwining. We dance again, drowning in the noise and each other.

I press my lips to the top of Pete's head and he holds me tighter than anyone ever did.

He takes me to his house later. He says he needs some quiet now, but he doesn't want me to leave yet. His house is big, tasteful and impressive, but I don't get a good look at it, because all the lights are off and he leads me straight to his bedroom.

I have no idea what's going to happen, but, somehow, I am not afraid.

Pete takes off just his shoes and lies down on his bed, inviting me to join him. So I follow suit, taking my shoes off, removing my phone from my back pocket, lying down next to Pete.

I concentrate on breathing. I know I probably smell like my own sweat and other people's sweat, but nothing matters now, just breathing and Pete's hand joined with mine.

We stare at the ceiling, unconsciously expecting all of the stars and moons and planets to appear above our heads. Everything is softly, velvety black.

''I like the quiet'', says Pete after what seems like a century of pillows and distant street murmur outside.

''I like you more'', I whisper, shocking myself into silence and sudden shortness of breath. My entire life doesn't flash before my eyes, no, it's not like that, but I can definitely feel myself stiffen and I'm thinking, wow, way to fuck things up, man.

Pete, however, nuzzles the skin on my arm, hugging me. ''I like you more than quiet too, Mikeyway.''

Magically, he takes my failure in his hands and makes everything okay again.

We fall asleep on Pete's bed together, listening to the silence.

 

I wake up with a nice feeling of having slept long enough. Warmth spreads all over my body before I even open my eyes and become aware that I am actually in Pete Wentz's bed, wearing all of my clothes, and nothing has ever felt so right.

I open my eyes to see Pete, wide awake, head on a pillow next to me.

''Hey there'', he squeezes my hand. If I ever wanted to kiss anybody good morning, it's right now, but instead I hold still, frozen in place, Pete grinning at me.

''Hey yourself. We went out pretty fast last night.''

''Yeah, I don't even remember falling asleep to be honest. Do you want coffee?''

I don't want coffee, I _need_ coffee to get my head straight, because now it's just a mess of Pete, flashing lights and falling asleep in someone else's bed.

''Coffee would be great.''

''I'm on it.'' Pete stands up, straightens his t-shirt and heads for the door. ''I'll be downstairs. The bathroom is first door on the left if you want to go. But don't be too long, I miss you already.'' He leaves the room, winking at me, and I try to gather my limbs and thoughts to get out of bed myself.

*

I'm trying to open my car door with slightly shaking hands, but my keys fly to the ground. Before I manage to pick them up though, somebody does it for me.

''Take it easy, Frankie, alright?''

Gerard hands me the keys. His palms are cold and he looks like he's been sleep-deprived for a couple of nights.

''What are you doing here?'' I speak before I realize how broken and miserable my voice sounds. It's really pathetic to be seen by him like this.

''Mikey told me your grandma died. I'm very sorry.''

I look him in the eyes, nodding slightly. ''Thank you. A call would've been enough, you didn't have to come all the way here.''

The humid morning weather makes me shiver. I try to open my car again, but Gerard grabs my wrist and stops me.

''Let me help you, okay? Let me drive there with you.''

''Come again?''

''You've heard me alright.''

I'm stunned. He wants to go with me to my grandma's funeral? And how exactly would that work?

''I'm sorry, but... what? You realize I'm going to a funeral, right? My entire family is going to be there, and you want to go as who exactly?''

''As your boyfriend, your lover, your friend, your arch enemy, whatever, I don't care. I just want to be there for you, can you let me?''

I can't. If I let him, if I invite him in at my most vulnerable, he's going to see all of the ropes. He's going to see all of the scars that I'm hiding.

I can't, but yet again, I have to. I need somebody to be there with me so much, however selfish that might seem. Gerard has a sincere, worried look on his face and I just say ''Okay then, let's go'', and he takes the car keys away from me again.

''Can I offer to drive you in my car?'' He points in the direction of a showy, pretentious, black Mustang, and I almost burst out laughing. I grab my bag from the ground and follow Gerard, trying not to notice the way his hand lingers on my lower back.

The door closes. The car smells like something new.

''Why are you doing this?''

He turns to me, rolls his eyes a little and takes a deep breath.

''Nobody should be alone in a situation like this one. I don't want you to be.''

I have a ten, or maybe a hundred, more questions, but I shut my mouth and let Gerard take the wheel.

*

''Are you afraid?''

Pete and I are standing at an empty starting lane of a local airport. The car Pete borrowed (''from a friend'', he says) looks like something Gerard would drive, but in 2030 maybe. It's black with bright, orange stripes through its length.

''Should I be? Are you that bad of a driver?''

Pete's black hair is lightened up by the midday sun. ''Me? Mikey, I don’t insult me. Let's do this.’’

So we ride. Pete claims to have an urge to drive fast and carelessly almost every time he's behind the wheel, but never acts on it. Now, he has a chance to drive as fast and carelessly as he wishes. The speed makes me feel pressure in my ears. It's hard to breathe, but I'm not sure it's because of the speed, smudges of different colors passing behind the window or Pete making the car spin with the happiest expression I've ever seen on a person. Even Frank didn't look this overjoyed when we got a record deal.

On Pete, the look seems to last. In the morning, I wanted to kiss him, but now, I just want to make out with him. It’s so unlike me, something so heavy and dirty I’m trying to shut it up. I'm not going to let myself go down that road, I'm not going to ruin this, being friends with Pete is too good and it has just begun.

He squeals like a child, making the back of a car drift. There's no music playing, just the engine roaring and Pete's laugh. I'm laughing too; it's hard not to, looking at his face. We make another turn. The stop we come to is sudden and leaves my head spinning.

''Your turn'', says Pete with the biggest of grins.

''I didn't sign up for this, Wentz.''

''It's not negotiable. Come on, jump out.''

My legs are shaking a little when I walk out to meet Pete in front of the vehicle. He gives my arms a brief squeeze and suddenly I'm in the driver's seat, seatbelt fastened, looking ahead, foot on the gas pedal.

I was only a kid when my dad let me drive for the first time. As soon as my legs were long enough to reach the pedals, he allowed me to seat behind the wheel while he was riding shotgun, and I slowly maneuvered though the Jersey streets, more careful than necessary. It was a lifetime ago, yes, in an era of brighter colors and warmer feelings, in an era when I wasn't a loser, a fuck-up, an addict, but just a kid with a future that could go any way. The fact that it went the wrong way was my own fault.

But I am alive, today, I'm driving a sports car at 160 miles per hour, on another adventure with Pete. I'm making us sway. I'm making my own head and stomach spin. After a few laps I'm hitting the brakes and my eyes are open, abrupt silence all around both of us. Pete is very close to me, touching my face, leaning over the gearbox. There's something fleeting and magical about the moment; something I can't quite grasp. Our noses bump. A chill runs down my spine.

See, if I were him, I would've asked a ton of questions first. I would've freaked out, calmed down, then freaked out again and gone through a tiny nervous breakdown. I would've doubted myself till the very last second. Luckily, Pete is different. He's not like me.

He leans even closer somehow and kisses me, fast and with full force. He's quickly winning over, willing my shocked lips to move against his, and our hands don't just touch anymore; they grab for every little bit of skin available. Pete seems to be smiling against my jaw, softly nipping on my skin, while I'm caressing the warm expanse of his back underneath the t-shirt. His stubble is probably giving me red burns, but I don't care. I understand why I wanted to do this so much. Now, I’m just hanging onto our perfect, little moment.

Pete breaks the kiss after what seems like ten seconds to me, and he's not smiling at all. He's testing waters; checking if I'm hurt or offended by what he's just done.

''No, Pete, please, come back, that was too fucking short.''

I drag him closer by the front of his shirt and lose myself in the feeling again.

*

Gerard is driving and I'm in the passenger's seat, staring through the sudden rain, completely brain-dead. Gerard's movements are short and abrupt; he brakes too late and starts too early. I have probably discovered the first thing he's not good at.

''How are you such a terrible driver?''

''I take a lot of cabs.''

''Why the fancy car, then?''

He shrugs, making a tight turn left. ''Do you really wanna talk about it?''

''I'd talk about anything now, except... you know. Just distract me, please?''

''Okay. So Dallon used to have this lame car, a Volvo, you know, a soccer mom car.''

Seriously, he brings up Dallon? I wince, but he doesn't notice, concentrated on the road. The truth is, I asked for a distraction, so I might as well listen to the story.

''And I told him, man, you're supposed to be a sharp NY lawyer, why don't buy a car that would represent you? So he bought himself an Aston Martin, but an older model. He also went deep into debt for it. I kinda felt bad for suggesting it, but what the hell. I had some money saved up, so I sold my old car and bought myself this punk rock baby.'' He taps the wheel with affection. ''But I still can't drive properly. Sue me.''

''Maybe I should drive?'' The wipers are working non-stop and Gerard finds my hand on my lap without looking.

''You sit tight. I got this.''

I highly doubt that, but I don't have that many options. Gerard holds my hand only for a few moments before he has to grab the wheel again. I miss the warmth of this gesture. The rain is tapping against the roof of the black Mustang.

I let my brain shut off completely.

*

_Dear Mikey,_

_did you ever think why the world decided we had to meet? What forces caused our collision just after I watched you perform and thought, damn, it would be cool to know what this bassist guy is like? Did you ever believe in fate? Do you? I never did, but maybe I should._

_When I was very depressed, my shrink told me to buy myself a potted plant. So I did, and some days I would get out of bed not to shower and make myself food or see my loved ones, but only to water the plant. It grew nicely, it had green leaves and little white flowers that would sometimes wither and my entire windowsill would be covered in them. The day my disease got so bad I was in my car, dozing off on all the pills I took, waiting for the feeling of bliss to finally wash over me, experiencing only mind-numbing, excruciating emotional pain, and then I thought, who's going to water my fucking plant? It's going to die without me there. I can kill myself, but the plant deserves better. That's why I've decided to call for help._

_The thing is, I still have the plant. It has grown even bigger in this new pot I bought for it, and I never forget to water it. It likes the sun and it likes music. The day this plant dies, a part of my soul will go away too, because, as you must've realized, the plant had its share in saving my life._

_Maybe that's what I should write about. The things and people that saved me. The things and people that allowed me to sit in this car with you, feel your hand in mine when we danced, sleep next to you in my bed, feel the words slowly coming back to me. I should thank these things and people, because without them, I would never know a thing about your talent, gentleness and courage._

_You are the reason I know what to do now. I'm not lost and confused anymore. You are the reason I'm going to write another book._

_Thank you._

_Pete_

_P.S. This is not a goodbye, this is a hello._

*

It feels like the first breath I take today. I lie down on my old bed, no posters on my walls anymore, sheets fresh and unfamiliar. I'm so tired I never want to move again. I pull my knees closer to my chest, shoes on and all, I don't even care. Gerard is smoking in an open window and I can feel the evening breeze on my skin.

We've been running errands all day. Mom seemed very relieved to see me, even though Aunt Bella helped her deal with the most pressing matters. She didn't ask one question about Gerard, he just introduced himself, waiting for a handshake, and she ignored the opportunity in favor of giving him a full-bodied hug. He's been with me the entire time, driving me places, setting up the funeral for tomorrow, talking me through little breakdowns. Snapping me out of them.

See, I never suspected I would need someone to lean on. And even if I did suspect it, I wouldn't in my wildest fantasies imagine Gerard Way as that someone.

He's doing an excellent job so far.

There's a photo on the nightstand, of course there is, my entire family at my high school graduation, and I look at the smiling face of my grandmother. She was so proud of me that day. She understood I'm not longer the little boy who was the happiest when she bought him chocolate ice-cream, but she loved me all the same. There were never any conditions with Grandma.

Nobody will love me like that after her. Nobody.

I try not to cry. I've watched my Mom cry for a better part of today, I don't need this, I'm better than this, I swear I am. I hug my own knees and the cry turns into a shiver that goes through my entire body. Tomorrow, I'm going to watch her disappear beneath the ground forever.

''Frankie? Move over.''

Gerard is next to me, trying to fit himself into my narrow bed. He's got his place in a guest room, I made sure of that, but I think he's still here because he wants to keep me company.

Not everybody does stupid stuff when they're miserable, Gerard.

I move anyway. He took off his shoes already, and now I get to helplessly watch as he unties and takes off mine. I wish I could say no, maybe stop him, tell him to go sleep in the guest room, but the truth is, I don't want him to go. Not yet. I know he will eventually, but I'm not ready for this.

Gerard proceeds to lie down, facing me, and I feel his arms wrapping around my entire body. He radiates nothing but warmth and good intentions, so I give up. I stop fighting, once and for all, completely. I hug Gerard back with all that I've got, clinging to him, hiding my face in the front of his shirt, palms fisting into the back of it, and a wail escapes my throat. It resonates in the air and just keeps going, it goes on probably forever, muffled a little by Gerard's firm chest before my face. And he's just letting me cry. It's the first breakdown he's letting me have today. We've done everything we were supposed to do; now I can cry.

Gerard is holding me. I've never been held like this before, or at least I don't remember. He's being quiet, just kissing the top of my head, caressing my hair and back.

Fuck. It's the worst time for all those feelings.

When the crying stops, I'm properly exhausted. All of the barriers have fallen, eyes are closing, breath is slowing down, but the heart doesn't seem to quit beating like it's freaking out.

''I'm sorry. I'm not always like this, you know'', I push the words out.

''You can be like this as long as you have to. Just – no need for your mother to see, right?''

He's giving me some space to talk and I see his face again. His cheeks are flushed from our heat. I realize our hands are entwined and I try to move mine away, but he's not having it. He holds onto it.

''I never meant for you to think you're a rebound. I really enjoyed our night together. I'm sorry the bad timing happened.'' Gerard's voice is quiet, sincere and low. It's almost a whisper. I nod slightly to let him know I accept the apology.

''Frank?''

''Yes?''

''If you tell me to fuck off now, I'll stop trying. After tomorrow, I won't bother you again. Just say a word.''

The entire room spins around and then back to its place. Maybe it was the world that took a spin? Maybe today's morning rain washed away my sense of reality and replaced it with this weird universe where I'm in my old bedroom, in Gerard Way's embrace.

''Please, don't ever stop bothering me.''

He smiles. Or laughs. Or makes a noise of relief. I'm not sure, because it's not even a second before I'm being kissed so enthusiastically it beats all of our previous kisses. Our bodies stick to each other like Velcro. There's absolutely no space, but I don't need it. I have found my someone to lean on. I'm not going to hold back. This might be just skin on skin, lips pressing close, exchanging breaths and desperate touches, but for me, it's more. I have finally found something genuine. Minutes ago, I just wanted so sleep forever, now the energy is slowly filling up my veins. The blood flows again, my skin reacting to Gerard’s touches.

Gerard pulls back, but only just so. I moan with distaste before he starts to speak.

''Maybe we shouldn't – ''

''I want to. We should.''

''Okay, okay, let me just – '', he trails off, and scrambles to get my pants off.

It's all rush, haste and bumping limbs, my bed still too narrow for both of us, but somehow we manage. Gerard puts a blanket over our mutual nudity. I throw the blanket off. I want to look at him. All of the lights are still on. I marvel over every inch of his skin, dropping kisses soft as feathers, making him shiver. He's wonderfully responsive to everything I do.

Before I even go down on him, he's hard already. That makes it even better. He's holding his hands in my hair, threading his fingers through it while I work my tongue. Everything is forgotten but the taste of Gerard in my mouth and the way he moans at a low volume, grabbing the sheets or holding onto my bare shoulders.

I am probably a very bad person for doing this tonight, of all the nights available. I don't care.

I stop suddenly, taking a look at Gerard's flushed, confused face, black hair messy all over his forehead, lips swollen from kissing. Hell, I want him _so bad._

''Fuck me, please, Gerard.''

He launches forward, locking our lips again, and changes our positions so that he's on top now, my legs spread wide, hooking over his lower back. We're making out constantly until he breaks away.

''But I didn't bring any – ''

''There's stuff in my bag, don't worry'', I tell him. We're okay. We're covered. I'm going to be okay, for the first time in a long time. I know this now. Gerard moves again, so that he's lying next to me. We're face to face and I'm looking into his dark eyes.

''This is so wrong; I'm not gonna fuck you in your mother's house while she's here, and the funeral's tomorrow, come on.''

I laugh helplessly. We're both still hard and horny, but the whole situation is ridiculous. Gerard wraps his palm around my dick though, his touch warm and expert, and then goes on to leaving a wet trail of kisses from my lips, along my neck, chest and stomach. Then it's Gerard's mouth on my dick, not his hand. And then it's...

''Oh'', I can't stop the little, meaningless word spilling from lips when I feel his soft fingers between my ass cheeks, spreading them slowly. It's too many sensations at once. I'm going to start making noise very soon.

''Fuck fuck FUCK, Gerard, fuck!'' One of his fingers makes its way inside me. I blink through the sting and relax all of my muscles except the palm that is holding onto Gerard's hair for dear life. Gerard's free hand, in other news, wanders to my mouth and clasps tightly over it. I’m moaning gutturally when I feel yet another finger, in and out at a fast, relentless pace. I am going to explode.

I try not to bite him when I come, through a blinding haze, every limb instantly soft like cotton, and he swallows everything before I can even see his face. There's some shushed words, messy, come – drenched kisses and I quickly grab for his dick, jerking him off, feeling that he's close. He comes all over my hand and stomach, panting into my open mouth.

The silence that falls over us after is not quite silent enough. The light is suddenly too bright and the air feels stiff. I need to shower, or at least wash my hands. Instead, I give Gerard a kiss to the forehead, and he's holding my hands, including the dirty one. The smile I see on his face is shy, almost coy. I decide to break the silence.

''Our first night together, did you feel it?'' I'm not sure how to phrase what I want to say, but somehow I'm certain he will understand.

''Of course I did. Why do you think I kept coming back?''

We don't talk anymore. I'm still not ready for what's going to happen tomorrow, but I will get through this. I will hold Gerard's hand for the whole day and drive back home with him in the evening. Maybe we will stop by this gas station outside of Trenton to get those milkshakes I always loved. There are so many things we can do.

There's tomorrow. And the day after that.

*

_Frank and I, it's official. You're the best. Love you bro._

There are those strange moments of extreme clarity in life that happen completely out of the blue. For example, you’re cooking yourself dinner and the water starts to boil and you’re thinking, _I should get clean. I can do this._ Or you’re reading a letter from your new friend and you realize, _I finally have my own life and I want this guy to be a big part of it._

It’s great when a moment like that happens. You shouldn’t waste it, because it comes with a huge dose of courage to change something, do something, make a move.

My moment of clarity is interrupted by a text message from Gerard. I’m not angry, because it’s good news; possibly the best thing that could happen for both of them. Or maybe it’s going to go down in flames, I’m not sure yet. We’ll just have to wait and see.

As soon as I woke up, I went to check my mailbox. There it was, unaddressed again, another letter from Pete. Black ink, messy handwriting, surrounded by little drawings, full of crossed out words that I can still make out. 

I’ve read the letter, impatiently swallowing Pete’s round sentences and his vast vocabulary, with tears in my eyes. Afterwards, the paper flew to the floor, and some metaphorical wall I’ve build carefully inside my soul went down with a deafening sound.

Now, everything is crystal clear.

I leave home on wobbly legs, first making sure Pete will be home when I get there. He offers to meet me by a fountain halfway.

The streets around me hustle and bustle. There's a warm ball in my chest that radiates heat all over my body, but also threatens to suffocate me. I try to breathe through the thick warmth, but I lose pace and my eyes flutter.

It's going to be fine. It is. It must be.

Pete is waiting for me by the fountain, huge headphones covering his ears. He's looking at the colors of the rainbow spilling everywhere because of sunrays dancing with waterdrops. I tap his shoulder very lightly so I don't startle him.

"Mikey!" He grins at me. I go blind. He hugs me like he always does, natural and easy, but my breath gets knocked out of my lungs again and I have to pause to run my fingers through my hair aimlessly. 

"Everything okay?" Pete gives his most concerned face, and I shake my head no.

"Can we sit down?"

"Sure, sure, over here, come on."

He guides me gently towards the fountain and we take a sit on its brim. I can feel the smallest drops of water settling on the back of my neck. I chance a look at Pete. He's still watching me carefully, frowning. I really want to talk to him about the letters and what they reveal, but it's not the right time. Now, I have to talk to him about something else.

"Remember what happened in the car yesterday?"

Pete's frown finally turns into a little smile.

"In the car? And then outside of it? And then again in front of your house?"

I nod. I kind of want to disappear.

"We've kissed and it was the best thing ever, Mikey, why would I <i>not</i> remember?"

"I just wanted to ask if you'd ever be up for that again. Or another adventure, or... or anything. Because if you would, I wouldn't object."

There. I said it; I said everything. Some of the tension drops off my shoulders. The ball is in Pete's court now. 

Pete plays the ball right back. He reaches for the collar of my shirt to drag my head closer and kisses me expertly, warm breath and short touch, so fleeting I barely manage to respond, but enough to leave a promise and a lingering pressure. Then he looks at me fondly and takes a hold of my hand.

"If it was up to me, I would call you my boyfriend in front of the entire world, I would write it on the sky and on the doors of people that hate me, I would... I would do all that and more if it was up to me, Mikeyway."

The rest of that horrible lingering tension goes away and leaves me with trembling hands and Pete grinning at me, like the most beautiful sunrise. I try to smile too; I manage to make him laugh.

"You can do all that, you know", I tell him. "I want all of this. Maybe not just now."

"What do you want now then?", asks Pete.

"Like, ten very deep breaths. And some coffee."

"Coffee sounds great. Can I show you this new place I discovered? I think you're gonna love it."

Feeling my face muscles tugging my lips into a smile, I allow Pete to lead me down the road I don't know yet.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of the story! I hope you've enjoyed it and that you're satisfied with the ending.
> 
> Please talk to me in the comments, I live for that stuff.


End file.
